Over
by Pharaoh-chan
Summary: With new games being ushered in, everyone is all for change, except for one. He's bent on bringing down every game, even if he has to do it one pixel at a time. (A look into other games Turbo might have went through before finding Sugar Rush...)
1. The Idea

"Did you hear?!"

"New game coming in!"

"What does it look like?"

"Don't tell me it's one of those cutesy games…don't we have enough of those lately?"

"Hey, hey. Knock it off you guys. Whatever the new game is, try not to tear it to pixels, alright?" The bartender gave a disapproving glance to the Hero's Duty squad, currently downing their drinks at an alarming rate.

"Aw c'mon…you know how it is. New games are n00bs, they have to prove themselves! It's only fair. Everybody's got it rough when they're first plugged in."

"Ahem. Might I remind you, Carl, that Hero's Duty was just plugged in a few days ago…?" The bartender gave a pointed stare before chuckling.

"I…uh…well uh…it's not like that, look, we kill giant bugs every day, we risk our lives every day, every damn-" Suddenly the hulking man, armor and all, broke down into sobs at the reminder of his life, and his choices, and with rolled eyes and sighs, his comrades began pulling him out of his seat. Poor Carl had a lot of inner reflection to deal with.

"Heh, some hero, eh guy?" The bartender laughed, rubbing a glass down with a rag, pointing his question to the last man at the bar, one not from Hero's Duty, and certainly no soldier.

When receiving no response, the Tappers owner set the glass down and leaned against the bar, rag stuffed into his pocket. "Why the long face, bub? You wanna talk about it? Did you get a mushroom stolen? Bad potion deal?"

"Tch. None of that." The somber voice replied, face downcast, eyes nearly glowing eerily in the dim light overhead. Dark bags were present under his eyes, but otherwise, not much could be seen from under his helmet.

"Is it worse, guy?" The bartender's mustache gave a twitch. "You lose one too many lives?"

"You could say that." Hands clasped together on the table in from of him. "One too many loses. I don't…" He shifted in his seat. "Deal _well_ with losing."

"I see." The bartender nodded slowly. "Well I don't think anyone does. Have a drink guy, forget about them. No matter how many times you lose, it doesn't make you who you are."

"Eh-heh…no…" The voice turned dark. "You don't understand. If you don't win in my game…you're nothing. I refuse to be treated as nothing. And furthermore-" His voice heightened in a frightening crescendo of well-hidden fury before falling once more. "I refuse to _lose._ Especially not to some high-resolution game that has the nerve to trample on everything my game stands for. No. I am not a loser, and I won't give in to it."

"Guy…you…you're…" The bartender sighed. "Look, if you're talking about progression, I know, I get it, and I sympathize. Lots of guys like you come in here, and they're all torn up inside because their game ain't what it used to be, and the players just aren't into it anymore. But you can't go against what the players want, they're what makes all of this happen, guy. I'm sure they won't unplug your game, but if they do…well…you gotta accept it and move on. Try to understand."

The man's shoulders began to shake, and the bartender nearly reached out in concern until he heard the bubbles of laughter. It heightened into a horrible sound, half hysteric, half wailing. It was pitiful and hard to listen to.

"G-guy come on now…you're upsetting the other-" The bartender's eyes widened as a pair of yellowed pupils settled on his, and an equally yellowed grin staring back at him.

"_My game's already been unplugged_." He whispered in between bouts of giggles, lifting a finger to his lips. "Shh. It's just for you to know. You can keep a secret, can't you, _Tapper_?"

"Wh-what?!" The bartender quickly slapped a hand over his mouth before repeating himself in a more discreet tone. "How…I didn't hear nothing about a game being unplugged. And I hear _everything_ here. When'd it happen?"

"Just an hour ago." The man propped his chin on his hand, grinning near cat-like. "Everybody's been oh so excited about the new game rolling in that they just don't have the day or time for an…outdated one like my own." His grin widened darkly. "So you're special! You get to know. I'd give you a medal but I'm afraid they went with the game, eh-heh."

"Guy…I'm…man, my condolences. That's terrible. You were replaced then…no wonder you're upset."

"Progression. Isn't that what you just said?" The man's grin vanished. "Game on or rage quit, isn't that the advice you were going for? You were delivering such powerful insight there, go on.~"

"Guy…I don't think it's entirely appropriate now." He busied himself with filling a mug and sliding it over to a nearby customer. "I mean…what I said…I didn't mean to just suck it up just like that. Y'know. It's hard. I would hate to see the day come when Tapper's closes. This place is my life."

"But what if it _did_ close? What's a bartender to do, _hoo-hoo_?"

"…I guess…I don't know. I'd move on, maybe to another game. I hear there's lots of taverns in that new fantasy game. Maybe it's crazy, but I could always try to find a job in one of those, eh guy?" The bartender laughed, trying to lighten the mood, failing to realize the wheels he had sent turning behind the ever widening Cheshire grin under the man's beat up helmet.

"You don't say. Game-jumping eh…?"

"Wha…?" The bartender turned to him, his smile faltering. "Wait, guy, you know I was just messing around right? I couldn't game-jump! N-nobody should, it ain't entirely right!"

"Why ever not? Such a revelation! Why didn't I think of it sooner?" The man giggled with glee, spinning in his seat.

"Guy, no! I-it's not natural. Look, if the players don't want you anymore, then you gotta let it go! The player is always right, you know that!"

"The player is also easily made dumbfounded by flashing lights and better graphics. The poor things are being bamboozled and they don't even know it."

"Look…just put it out of your head. You're gonna be okay. Don't do anything crazy. Sometimes things just end, but there's nothing wrong with it. You had a good run…"

The man stopped spinning and finally stood up, tucking his hands into his pockets. "I was…the best racer…"

"I'll bet you were, guy. The best there could be. But there's nothing wrong with handing the title to someone new. Give new games a chance to have your run, your experiences. You know?"

"Give them…the chance to know what it was like? What it's like to win…" The man murmured softly, distantly.

"Yeah, see guy? You're catching on now. That's the spirit." The bartender smiled.

The man finally turned, flashing a shaky smile to the bartender. "You're very good at your job. I hope you never _lose_ it."

The bartender's smile faded slightly as he watched the man turn to leave. "Hey…hey guy…you got a name?"

The man stopped again, turning on his heel. His drooping eyes brightened slightly, his grin gleaming. "_Turbo_. And thanks for all of your advice, eh-heh.~"

The door swung shut, leaving the bartender confused and slightly nervous. Something about the encounter hadn't turned out the way he expected. But then again, he had seen a lot of strangeness go down in Tapper's.

As the man clad in his racing uniform stepped outside, he felt a rush powering through him as if he'd just crossed the finish line all over again. It made his insides tingle with electricity. The ideas gathered around in his head, forming wicked ideas, and as he gazed up at the game screen to look out into the arcade, he spotted the new game. "Well…it's only fair, right? I should let you have the experience I've had. You'll win, alright. And then…" He pulled his helmet down. "_You'll lose everything."_


	2. Twins

The new game was indeed a racing genre. Though it was a new concept of racing that the players decidedly were warming up to. The name of the game was Marble Midway, and it featured, what else, marbles. The beginning of the race was set up almost like a pinball machine. Racers chosen would fly through the metallic guard rails like little rollarcoasters, in ironically, a marble encasing them. Then, once reaching the street, players would shoot them out, and with enough speed, their marbles would transform into their selected carts.

It was a neat little spin, something different from the usual. But what was the big hoopla, really? Were players really so distracted by useless add-ons? Whatever happened to good old fashioned racing? A simple track, a true test of the road. Was this _really_ what he had been replaced by? He refused to accept that.

"_None of them could beat me."_ He told himself, sneering in disgust at the mere sight of its title. "I know they couldn't…"

Certainly none of them were racing veterans like himself. He'd been here since the beginning. He had hundreds of trophies. They were little amateurs playing go-cart. It was cute, really, laughable.

No, it wasn't cute, it was disgusting. They were making a mockery out of him!

He was seething, he could feel his face burning like a thousand frantic processing chips in a computer. What he wouldn't give to smash this rotten little game to pieces for stealing his thunder- and any other racing game for that matter!

"Uh…h-hey Turbo. Why are you…uh…just standing there?"

He nearly jumped out of his stylish suit, jerking around to see the cause of interruption of his precious thoughts.

"Oh. It's _you_ two." Turbo sneered, rolling his eyes at the pair of twins standing before him. "Look, beat it. I don't need a couple of losers hanging around me while I'm trying to think. You'll clutter up my head with all of your failure."

"Eh-heh. There's good ol' Turbo, always with the…the jokes." One of the twins tittered nervously before sighing. "Look, can't we just forget about the racing for once? We all know you're the best racer in Turbo-Time, but it's not even plugged in right now-"

"You little brats- there wouldn't even BE a Turbo-Time without me! I'M TURBO!"

"G-got it, but…but it's unplug-"

"I KNOW YOU DIMWHITS! Why do you think I'm out here trying to form a plan?!" He grabbed the twins by their helmets, knocking them both together. "We're not going to be unplugged for long- once the players see that the game that replaced Turbo-Time isn't working right, they'll realize what a mistake they've made."

"B-but Turbo, why wouldn't the new game work right…?" One of the twins murmured, head pounding and power-ups floating around his skull.

"Because." Turbo explained impatiently, a sickening grin forming on his pale face. "We're going to make _sure_ it doesn't. Do you _morons_ understand what I'm getting at, or do I need to hit you again?"

"N-no hitting needed, Turbo!" The other twin gave a shaky thumbs-up. "I-I think we've got it. But…is this…the right way to go about it? W-what about the other game?"

"It's with a heavy heart that we must make these sacrifices, Turbo-Twins." Turbo grabbed both of them, hoisting them up and wrapping an arm around each shoulder. "I'm not a bad guy now, am I? But let's face it- the players have made a terrible mistake! And now a poor game will have to pay the price. I almost feel sorry for it."

"_Uh_…"

"_Well_…"

"…What are you guys trying to say?! You think I'm a bad guy for getting our game back?"

"No, we want the game back too, Turbo!"

"Y-yeah, what can we do to help?"

"_That's_ more like it." Turbo grinned, pushing them away before dusting his racing suit off. "Now first things first, we're going to pay a little visit to this chump race to scope out the competition, eh-heh. They'll be pathetic I'm sure, but we'll have to know what kind of a game we're up against."

"Yes sir!"

"Y-yes sir!"

"…That means get moving, crash-dummies. You're going to get to see what it's like seeing the race from the outside, instead of from behind me, eh_-heh_."

"Sounds…boring…"

"JUST GET MOVING."


End file.
